Pure Madness
by summerbaytroubles
Summary: Jessie Napier is the daughter of The Joker himself. She was raised for part of her life with him, when he a normal dad that she could turn to. However, once a situation happened that forced her to move into a home with other girls that weren't cared for, Jessie began to become more and more like her father. How will she find her true self before she's consumed by the madness?
1. Chapter 1 - The start

Jessie always knew she was a different child.

Raining. Grey skies. Monday morning. '93

Four year old Jessie slowly opens her sticky-with-sleep eyes and tries to let them focus on her clock above her head, which is ticking in an inconsistent manner, each tick echoing against the walls. She snuggles into her thinned duvet a little deeper, already hearing the eerie creaking of the floorboards outside of her room, which meant that her mother was awake. Tick. T-tick.

_That damn clock._

Jessie finally heaves herself up in bed, rubs her little eyes and gives herself a little stretch before swinging her bare feet onto the threadbare blue carpet and standing up, humming to herself and walking across her room to her little wicker basket, to find her old flannel and her bristly toothbrush to take to the bathroom. She hears voices, though.

_In her head?_

No, that only came at night time. This is definitely the voice of her mother, laughing at something in her bedroom.

_Hysterically._

Knowing her mum, Jessie knows it isn't even anything funny so she thinks nothing of it.

Bright. Thursday afternoon. Clear skies. '98

Jessie walks into the kitchen at the age of 9 and sees her mum and her dad sitting at the coffee table. She gives a small smile before making her way to sit down - but completely clumsily missing the chair and crashing onto the dusty stone tiled floor, her tailbone shooting in agony.

_Pain._

Granted, her father looks up and tilts his head to the side as if to say 'are you alright?' but her mother, her eyes sparkling, bursts out into laughter, her hand covering her mouth and turning away from the scene.

_How rude._

Jessie's father, Jack, turns and states at his wife with the straightest face ever, which just made his wife laugh harder, now clutching her stomach. Jessie swallows and blinks back the tears of embarrassment as her father reaches over and helps her up, his face still straight. "Ready?" he mutters. Jessie nods.

"3, 2, 1," Jessie stands up with the help of her father's strength, wobbles slightly but then dusts off the back of her black dress, now coated in dust.

Maybe a few insects too.

Jessie's father - a man called Jack Napier - now fully turns himself to his wife and gives her the dirtiest he could master as she wipes the invisible tears of laughter away from her eyes, dramatically.

_She's so rude._

"It's not that funny," Jack drawls, blinking at her, now confused at the joke. "Is there a joke that I missed?" Jessie's mother, a woman called Alexis Napier, smiles sadly and leans on her palm as she faces her husband.

"No," she shrugs carelessly.

"Good," Jack mumbles. Jessie meanwhile, sits down - this time actually getting the chair - and begins to butter herself some toast. She feels something run across her feet and screams bloody murder, automatically bringing her feet onto the chair but the chair not supporting her weight and toppling backwards, crashing onto the floor, Jessie's head cracking against the kitchen counter and scraping against the handle of the drawers on the way down. She collapses onto the floor, clutching the back of her bleeding head.

_Total agony._

Jack gets up and walks over to her, bending down to check her injuries. He tuts. "We've gotta get you do the hospital," he whispers, dialling 911. As it rings he turns to his wife, who for some reason is in hysterics - as in hysterical laughter. What just happened is not funny to anyone else but her. "Why are you LAUGHING?" Jack ends up shouting. Jessie's heartbeat picks up - her dad never shouts. Alexis giggles to herself and shrugs nonchalantly again which irritates her husband to the max as he tells the paramedic their address. Jessie however can't take the laughter. It's ringing through her brain and making her head sting alongside the pain.

_Just shut her up._

Jack hangs up and bends down again, attempting to stop the bleeding with his hands. His wife is still laughing. He can't take it. Jessie can't take it. They can't take it.

_Just slap her or something._

"ALEXIS," Jack barks. Alexis rolls her eyes playfully which winds Jack up so much he can't describe, so he clenches his fists.

"Oh come on, guys, it's was a rat, it was funny!" she defends herself, still wearing that stupid grin. Jessie stops biting down on her jaw in pain and actually turns to face her mother just as her father does.

_'It was funny'_

_'It_

_was_

_funny'_

"You're sick," Jack spits, still supporting his daughter's head.

"Oh guys, she'll be fine. Why so serious all the time? I swear I'm in the wrong family." Jack is about to retaliate but sees the sirens of the ambulance staining the white washes walls with their neon colours. The paramedics rush through and carry Jessie onto the stretcher, backing up and telling Jack to follow them, his hands still pooled with her blood. He stands up straight and quickly rinses his hands before leaving with them.

"Since it's so funny, you can stay here," he trills over his shoulder to his wife before he leaves, who is left smiling to herself alone in the kitchen.

Thursday night. Dark skies. Raining.

Jack opens the front door and let Jessie walk through, the bandage wrapped around her head to support the stitches. It's dark in there - Alexis has clearly gone out.

_Thank God._

Jack throws Jessie a packet of dry crackers and a warm carton of orange juice, a silent goodnight as they usually did. Let's just ignore the feeling in her head that some may just register as pure pain.

_Sure, why not._

Jessie heaves herself up the stairs and ends up collapsing on the bed, feeling beyond drowsy. Darkness coats her eyelids as she finally shuts them and falls into a deep sleep.

_For around two hours._

It's now three in the morning. The only reason Jessie wakes up is that creak of the front door, implying that her mother was home. She sits up, ignores her head, pads over to the banister and peers down. She hears heartbreaking sobs.

One by one they break her heart.

Well you would expect them to.

_But Jessie, for some reason, isn't fazed_.

Until her mother glances up and she can see what's happened.

_Ouch._

Her cheeks look slashed, completely ruined and stained with dark red blood. Her eyes are pleading and glistening with tears.

_It was a smile_

Just an eerie smile, carved into her cheeks.

Wow.

Nothing?

_Nothing._

_No feeling? Shock? Nausea? No? Okay then._

Jessie watches, frozen, as her father walks into the hallway with a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. This is when she gets scared.

_What now?_

She can't hear much now, just her father mumbling some random words. She can make out some words, such as

"You're always smiling now." Jessie's heartbeat picks up now.

What? That sounds wrong.

Over her mothers painful speechless whimpers she can hear the metallic clattering of something in the tool box.

_No, dad._

"Jack, no," Alexis murmurs, not able to open her mouth properly due to the bleeding gashes in the mouth, now feeling faint.

"Why so serious?" Jack hisses, the clattering stopping. Jessie feels sick.

_No, dad, no._

"Jack," Alexis sobs.

"Why so serious?" Jack hisses louder, sounding like he's keeping something in the corner of his mouth.

Oh no he's not about to do that-

_"Why-"_

"Jack-"

_"so-"_

"No-"

"_serious_?"

Slash.

Crash.

Clutter.

Stutter.

_A manic laugh._

"Now we can both smile," came a high pitched overly-happy voice through gritted teeth.

Jessie opened her eyes in a flash, sitting up, panting as she clutched her chest. Her eyes darted around her and she calmed down as she realised that she was still in the child's home, being cared for until anyone was bothered to adopt her. The saddest thing was, the dream she had wasn't a work of fiction…

…that was her life.

**A/N: Hello! So this first chapter was a bit of a one off, that's not usually how I write haha, I just wanted to try something a little different. This story's going to be so much fun to write.**


	2. Chapter 2 - The Knife

_Monday, June 16__th_

_Sunny, bright morning._

Jessie couldn't breathe, she sat up and her heart was reaching levels that she never thought it would.

_Not to worry._

This usually happened to her every morning and it didn't faze her in the slightest. In fact, she was so used to it that even though it took her so long for her to compose herself, her eyes showed no panic as she casually stare ahead of herself as if it didn't matter. Jessie studied the wallpaper of the room she was in as she attempted to breathe normally again.

_This wasn't home._

The wallpaper was peeling off the walls. It was a sickly green colour, the same colour as the mucus that you would cough up when you were sick.

_Wonderful._

The carpet barely existed anymore. It wasn't great and if you stepped on the wrong bit, you would get a deep cut in the bottom of your foot. Jessie didn't mind, though. She didn't care about blood, or pain, she was too used to it. She kept a small damp cardboard box in the corner of the room with a few of her clothes in there and a picture of her father and herself in a small silver frame with a jagged edge.

_This wasn't home._

Mrs Huckleberry's Home for Girls was a place that Jessie didn't like to think about. Well it's hard not to think about somewhere when you have to wake up and go to sleep in that same place every, single, day. Sometimes, Jessie liked to close her eyes and pretend that she was back, at home with her parents.

_But then she remembered why she couldn't go back to that time._

Anyway on this particular morning, this sunny bright morning on Monday the 16th of June, after Jessie's routine panic attack, she went downstairs to the large kitchen where the other girls sat. Girls of different ages, different colours, different sizes – same goal:

_To be loved._

_...how pathetic._

Jessie thought that goal was pathetic. Why be loved when you can just be hated or ignored and are not hassled as much? One particular girl in the home was called Janet. Janet was the 'head girl' of the Home. She was someone that every girl apart from Jessie loved and adored. Yes, every girl apart from Jessie. Therefore, when Jessie came downstairs and Janet stood there, waiting to be greeted this morning by the newest member of the kitchen, it didn't work. "Ahem," Janet began, gaining all of the girls' attention as they stopped what they were doing.

_Jessie decided not to hear her._

"Ahem?" The room was now silent as everyone craned their necks to watch Jessie and wait for the ritual good morning.

"You should really get that checked out," Jessie said lowly. Jessie's voice…now that was something. It was low and mellow but sometimes had a habit of cracking in slight places. She also always managed to stay threatening, bored but also amused at the same time.

_Just like her father._

"You should really get your attitude checked out, Jessica Napier," Janet huffed, turning up her nose and causing a few other girls to grin in admiration at this.

_Jessica?_

_Oh no._

_She did not just use her full name._

"Janet Lindsey Maria Penfold," Jessie muttered slowly, stressing the syllables of each word. "Never, ever use my full name, ever again." At this point, half of the girls in the room began to feel uncomfortable. The ones that had known Jessie for a few years already knew what could happen when she got upset. The newer ones thought Jessie was putting on a front so they were not bothered.

_Well, we'll see about that._

"Honestly, Jessica I have tried so hard with every girl here to create something of them, to turn them into whoever they want to be, but you? You're a lost cause. I don't find you funny, or cute-"

Jessie picked up the bread knife and began to slice some bread, in a very slow manner but she felt the colour drain from her face.

"…you're rude, arrogant…"

Jessie's grip on the knife got tighter.

"…but to be honest, knowing your past and your dad, I'm honestly not surprised that you turned out the way you did. It's in your blood-"

_And there it is._

"That's IT!" Jessie screamed, spinning around, the knife still in her hand as she lunged toward Janet, who jumped back as the girls all screeched their heads off, some of them jumping on the table to get away and some of the others running straight out.

_Chaos._

Jessie shoved Janet straight onto the floor, hearing the crack as her skull made contact with the marble, just like she heard when she was younger, on that horrific day. Over the dull crack of her head. in Jessie's own head she heard the cackling of her own mother. Jessie raised the knife as the nurses from the Home all ran in, but before they reached the knife or Jessie, she managed the slam the knife straight into the floor, narrowly missing Janet's shoulder.

_She could've got her if she wanted to._

"You're crazy," Janet sobbed, once Jessie was finally restrained and being prepared to be taken to The Sparker, which was the room where the boiler was held. It was a form of punishment.

"I'm not crazy," Jessie hissed, her voice escaping like a raspy tongue of a snake. "_I'm not crazy!_" she screamed, as she was dragged away, kicking and clawing at whatever she could before being thrown in the closet, the door locking behind her.

_That was the first day Jessie began to question her sanity._

Tuesday 17th June

Dark, grey skies.

Jessie walked into the kitchen and didn't say anything to Janet.

_And Janet did not say a word about it._

**A/N: Thank you for all of your supportive reviews! I was overwhelmed, thank you.**


	3. Chapter 3 - The Art

Wednesday, 18th June

Bright but humid.

Jessie picked up her painting, straight off the canvas, ripping it into shreds. Tiny, little shreds – just like her heart.

_Oh no, that's just ridiculous. _

_She doesn't have a heart._

Of course the only thing Jessie wanted to do today was get out of the girl's home, go exploring, wandering. She actually loved the outdoors and all of the things nature had to offer.

Grass, sea, life and death.

_Especially death._

Was it normal for a young girl to be so infatuated with the idea of death, and sadness?

_It shouldn't be._

Jessie spent this morning painting. Painting what? Pictures of fear, of worry, scribbles and thick black lines crossing over each other. Some call it art, others call it pure madness and mess but that's what Jessie's life was full of. She picked up the splintered brush and held it in her hand with such force that it cut into the palms of her hands but she didn't care.

It's all art, is it not?

There was a soft knock at the door, which distracted Jessie from staring blankly at the white piece of paper that she had laying in front of her. "Come in," she muttered, not sounding too happy that her flow had been interrupted. In walked Lucy, a small girl with white blonde hair and thick black glasses. She had freckles dotted all over her face and she clearly quite liked Jessie.

"Sorry to interrupt," she began timidly, her dark blue eyes darting all over the cupboard that Jessie called a room. "But I thought I would come and see if you needed any help."

Jessie rolled her eyes in the patronizing way that she did.

_What was she, 10?_

"Help?" she repeated stonily. "No, thank you, no help is needed."

_You got that right, now go away and let me paint in peace._

"So…what are you painting?"

_Nothing yet, because you won't leave me alone._

Jessie squeezed her eyes shut as they began to burn slightly, mostly from staring too long at the white canvas.

"I am painting my emotions."

_The question is, what emotions?_

"What kind of emotions are you painting?" Lucy came a little further inside the room, which automatically making Jessie feel uncomfortable.

"I don't know yet," she said through gritted teeth, feeling her patience levels slowly deteriorate into a pile of acidic mess.

_Please leave me alone._

"Do you need any help?" Jessie felt a little sick to her stomach as she opened her eyes to see Lucy was now comfortably sitting next to her on that little wooden bed.

_What, are you doing here?_

"No, thank you." Jessie let out a slight cough and picked up the brush again but sadly – this made no difference.

"So do you know much about your family?"

"Family?" Jessie repeated in disgust, throwing the brush down again. "I don't even know what that word means."

_Stay calm, Jessie, don't think about your dad._

"I had family once."

_I don't really care, go away now and let me do this peace._

"Oh? I'm sorry," Jessie said with some form of sympathy?

"I don't remember much about my family-" Jessie glanced up and studied Lucy's face and noticed that her eyes were welling up with tears.

_What is she crying about?_

_Do I even know her?_

_Stop._

"I apologise," Jessie mumbled again, darting her own eyes away quickly. Lucy let a few tears fall from her eyes and they dribbled down her face, running over the freckles and down into her mouth.

_Wait._

Jessie heard the common white piercing noise in the back of her brain as she picked up the brush, and slowly brought it to Lucy's face. Lucy froze, in complete fear.

_What…is she doing?_

"Stay still," Jessie hissed, in a voice that almost wasn't hers, raspy but gentle as she brought her brush up to Lucy's face and gently dabbed it in the tear. Lucy gasped in shock and just ran out of the room, leaving Jessie with a paintbrush dipped in original tears.

_Perfect._

Jessie slowly raised the brush up to the canvas and brushed the streak onto it, which didn't make an obvious impact and technically all it was, was tears on a piece of paper.

_But, that's art, is it not?_

_That's art._

_At least the white noise stopped,_

_until it got louder the next day._

**A/N: Sorry for no chapter last week therefore the next chapter for this will be tomorrow. **


	4. Chapter 4 - The Fork

Thursday 19th June 2006

Jessie didn't enjoy attention but didn't enjoy being ignored.

_You can't have it both ways._

_Can you?_

This morning, Jessie had awoken with a sore throat, feeling like she had shards of glass opening up her throat slowly and painfully.

_It didn't bother her, though._

She sat up and felt the chill around her, hating today already. Darkness consumed the sky like ink being dotted on a piece of damp paper.

_How beautiful the darkness is._

There was nothing Jessie hated more than when people tried to pry into her personal life. She didn't really have much of one but the little things that she did retain about herself, she didn't want anyone else to know. Especially not Lucy, the scrawny little blonde girl that appeared to enjoy her company.

_She could barely enjoy her own company so how could Lucy enjoy hers?_

Rolling onto her side and snuggling deeper into the covers, Jessie's eyes slowly fell onto a fork that was lying on the carpet.

_How did that get there?_

A fork. So beautiful, so majestic, so pure. Three prongs, each signifying something different. There was a red tip of some form of liquid on each prong.

_Juice or blood?_

Jessie thought nothing of it and swung her long legs over the edge of the bed, standing up straight and clicking her neck, nudging the fork underneath the bed and walking over to the door of her so called bedroom. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the painting that she had started.

_When did that get there?_

There were the same dry streaks of old tears on the white sheet of paper, but alongside the tears, there were three fresh, long thin streaks of the same red liquid that she saw on the fork.

_When did it happen?_

_It's beautiful, though._

Jessie stood there and lightly ran her fingers over the paper, admiring her new and improved piece of work, not even bothered on how she did it since she didn't remember a thing last night. There was a rapid knock at the door, interrupting her blank thoughts. Jessie didn't answer and the door opened anyway, revealing Miss Bun, one of the maids of the home. She was a short and curvy lady, with long, auburn hair that ran down to her kneecaps when she let it out – but most of the time she had it messily tied up in a huge bun atop her head. She wore a blue and black checked dress most days, and her cheeks were always a rosy red and her eyes a deep green. As striking as she was, hardly anybody in the home gave her attention. "Jessie, love, it's time for breakfast. I do hope you've learnt your lesson."

Jessie didn't flinch.

_What is this old hag talking about now?_

"Lesson?"

"Your lesson."

"Lesson for what?" Miss Bun let out one of her long, drawn, patronising sighs that sent most of the girls in the orphanage over the edge.

"Don't be silly, Jess."

_Silly? I'll show you silly._

Jessie tried not to react to this.

"How rude. I'm not being silly."

"Jessie, you know why you were sent to confinement yesterday, you and I both know why. So don't play dumb and come down for breakfast." Jessie found herself become agitated as she bit down on her bottom lip.

_You patronizing little- _

"No, I honestly don't. But what would I know? You are the one in my head after all."

"Shut up, Jessie, and come downstairs, make sure you apologise to Lucy," Miss Bun snapped, before leaving Jessie standing there in the doorway. "Oh, and take that damn fork with you, we have to get that disinfected as soon as possible."

…

Jessie had nothing to be sorry for, since she didn't yet know what she did that was so bad.

_What's happened that was so bad?_

The dining room in Mrs Huckleberry's Home for Girls was huge, more long than wide. The walls were painted cream but the paint had begun to crack, chipping away around the skirt board. The floor was made of wooden planks, which had begun to rot slightly, due to the damp that sometimes leaked from the ceiling. The table, which was long, narrow and wooden, was supported by thirty to forty stools altogether, none of which ever felt stable to sit on.

_This place was a dump, and frankly disgusting._

When Jessie took a seat at the end of the table, blocking out all the shouts and laughter from the other girls, her eyes immediately darted around the room to try and find Lucy, who apparently had not come down yet. Her eyes then travelled down to the where her chipped china plate sat, and saw her knife and fork on either side of the plate.

Another fork.

A clean one this time.

How beautiful the fork is.

Three prongs, one cannot stand without the other two, and vice versa. How poetic.

Jessie was a prong of a fork once, her father and mother the other two. Once her mother did what she did and her father disappeared in the dead of night, Jessie had actually been left alone. She was the one prong of the fork that was left, with no support. Then she remembered.

Rainy, cold winter afternoon, Friday evening, '97

It was time for dinner, once again in the Napier household. The one lamp was swinging above the table and was giving off such an eerie light. Around the table sat Alexis, Jack and Jessie in that order, sitting in silence as Alexis spooned out some of the steaming tomato pasta out of the slightly dented pot in the middle of the table into their plastic bowls. "Jack, I am so sick and tired of no communication between us," Alexis was hissing angrily, digging the large spoon into the pot and letting pasta slosh all over the sides getting tomato sauce on the table. Jessie glanced up at her father and saw he was paying little attention.

_Dad, don't react, I don't want a scene today._

Jack just picked up the fork that was lying on the table next to his own bowl.

"This is a really good fork," he said slowly and deliberately, his eyes focussed on it.

_What was he talking about?_

"Jack, it's getting ridiculous," Alexis carried on angrily, shoving Jessie's bowl in her direction across the table. Jessie caught it and put her head down. "I just want you to talk, I am so sick of you acting stupid, and you're the reason that I find it hard to laugh."

_You don't find it hard to laugh._

"This is such a great fork," Jack mumbled, touching the tip of each prong.

_No, what are you doing?_

"Jack! You're not even listening to me-"

_Oh for the love of God listen to her, dad…_

"Isn't this a great fork, Jess?"

_Don't ask me, I'm not involved._

"Jack can you actually listen to me for once in your life?"

_Dad, just listen-_

"Jess? Isn't this a nice fork? So…pointy," Jack turned to his daughter who just gave a small nod and spooned some of the pasta into her mouth.

_It's the end, he's gonna hurt her._

"Jess, go upstairs," Alexis hissed, her eyes blazing.

_If I go upstairs, I guarantee that you are going to die today._

"…so…defined," Jack continued, now humming to himself as he studied this fork.

"Jack! I have had it up to here! You blame me for laughing at yet I can't even be taken seriously, you disgusting piece of-"

_Oh my god he's actually going to do it, he-_

Thursday 19th June 2006

"Napier, stop playing with your fork," Lady Haddy snapped, which made the other girls giggle. Jessie noticed what she was doing and slowly put the fork down, swallowing her anxiety and fear, trying to shake it off.

"My apologies," she murmured slowly, but was interrupted by the presence of someone sitting opposite her. She looked up and saw Lucy, sitting down, her eyes trained on the ground and her blonde hair stranded all over her face, her right hand covering something on her forearm. She refused to look up.

_Well, what's her problem?_

Jessie blinked at Lucy but then focussed on the fork in her bedroom and remembered that she forgot to bring it down. She got up, her chair scraping against the floor and silently excusing herself from the table, no one noticing her leave. On her way out, she saw Lucy move her hand away from her arm and caught a glimpse of what she was covering.

There, dented in her pale skin, were three, small, bloody holes.

Almost like it was made by a fork or something.

_How pretty._

**_Sorry for the delay in writing, I'm back for good now! I hope you somewhat enjoyed this chapter and also, if you wonder what kind of person I see Jessie as, it's definitely the character Effy Stonem from Skins. Look her up :) x_**


	5. Chapter 5 - The Acquaintance

**A/N: Before you read this, to all my American Horror Story fans - imagine Evan Peters as the character 'Sticks'.**

**You may continue.**

Friday 20th June

Lucy felt that Jessie was staring at her as she left the room and blushed furiously. Only she knew what had gone down the night before and she was willing to forget about it if Jessie did too. But the fact is that Jessie didn't even remember.

_Or she just really didn't want to._

When Jessie went upstairs, there was something different about her room. The cup, which was once on the windowsill, had now slightly moved to the left, and she knew this because the ring on the chipped white painted surface which was made by untouched black coffee, had suddenly become visible, meaning the cup had indeed been moved by something or someone.

Plus, the window was open.

_There's someone here._

Of course, Jessie wasn't that bothered but she was curious. She had no problem with someone coming into her room if it was one of the younger kids…but anyone that was old enough to know what they were doing and looking for, that's when she got annoyed. Naturally, Jessie went to the first place she suspected anyone to hide – the cupboard. And there he was. "Get, out of my room," Jessie hissed angrily, her heart thumping hard. Sitting there, with that little smirk on his face, was Sticks.

_What's he doing here?_

"Alright, Jess?" Jessie rushed to shut the door and gave a hefty sigh.

"Can you stop coming in here unannounced?" she hissed, leaning against it. Sticks stood up and grinned slightly, crossing his arms and studying Jessie as she bent down to pick up the fork.

"Nice fork."

_Don't start._

"Yeah, I thought so." Sticks rolled his eyes as he set himself down on the bed, running his hands on the quilt. "Why are you here?"

"Just here to see my favourite-" Jessie stamped her foot.

"Don't even go there," she snapped. "We had an agreement – you would stop coming in here and I would try my damn best to forget you existed!"

_I didn't even have a chance to forget._

"Um…ouch?" Sticks muttered, tapping his knees already. "How has life been for you?"

"The same old crap. We wake up, we breathe, we sleep and one day we die," Jessie shrugged.

"I have missed that positive side of you, Jess." Sticks cocked his head to the side for a second, his blond hair swaying in the breeze of the slightly open window. "I have."

"I wish I could say the same about you, but I really don't care enough about your life," Jessie snapped bluntly, feeling herself get agitated.

"Rough day?"

"Oh, however could you tell?" Sticks smirked and raised his eyebrows as he gazed which made Jessie uncomfortable.

_Get him out before people see._

"Sticks why are you here?" Jessie cut to the chase, walking across the threadbare carpet to see her canvas again, comparing the prongs of the fork that she was clutching to the marks made on the paper.

"I just answered that. Okay so did you have coffee in this mug? I thought you don't drink coffee?"

"You think a lot about me, Sticks."

_Why is he deflecting?_

"You said it makes you feel sick, did you not?"

"I'm using it for my painting," Jessie sighed quietly, throwing the fork on the ground and going to sit next to Sticks.

"Oh, that's nice of you. It's…uh…what is it?"

"It's…" Suddenly, Lucy burst into the room, panting and slamming the door shut behind her.

_Is this an open house event that I never got the memo for?_

"Oh! Sticks," Lucy blinked, a little baffled as she saw Sticks tapping his knees and once again smirking at her.

_Is that all he does? Smirk?_

"'Ello Luce!" he said brightly, almost too brightly for Jessie's liking. Something was off about him today. This thick British accent was really coming through.

Naturally, all of the girls in the home knew who Sticks was. Their home was a few blocks down from the Bruce Wayne Foundation for Boys, so there were rumours flying around from home to home about people. Sticks, his real name Edward Viperi, had been known for being rather rough and rugged but also had a charming and somewhat sweet nature. He was straight forward and had a 'bad-boy' nature, that dirty blonde hair forever making girls swoon. Well, every girl but Jessie.

"What are you doing here, Sticks?" Lucy asked shortly.

"Why is everyone asking me that? I'm here practically everyday," he rolled his eyes, laying down on the bed.

"What, in Jessie's room? Seriously?"

_Um, ouch?_

"Well then…what's that supposed to mean? Are you surprised?" Jessie asked slowly, actually offended.

"Oooh, girls fighting over me – it's been some time," Sticks let out a chuckle, his dimples denting his cheeks.

"Shut up Sticks," Jessie snapped. "If you must know, Lucy, I've known this idiot longer than any of you lot." Lucy nodded slowly and clenched her jaw. Jessie remembered when she first met Sticks.

_Dark, Friday evening, Cloudy, '98_

Jessie sat in the small bed of her new room. She was only nine and this was a whole new place for her, without her parents or her things, just a room with a bed, a cupboard and a box of her things. There was a coming storm and the one lightbulb in this alien room wasn't lighting up much.

She just wanted to go home.

But now this was home.

Suddenly, there was a banging on the glass. Jessie's eyes went wide with fear and she bit down on her knuckle so hard that she felt the warm metallic taste of blood almost immediately afterwards. Before she could move or even scream, the window was opening and in crawled a ragged young boy, not much older than Jessie, with a mop of dirty blonde hair and dark brown eyes dressed in a trench raincoat and dark jeans complete with scuffed trainers. His eyes went wide when he saw Jessie sitting there in fear. "Woah! S-sorry, there's not usually anyone in here…"

_Who the hell is he?_

Jessie didn't say a thing, she just stared at this boy in confusion.

"Uh...is it okay if I stay for a while? I just wanna get out for the night and this is where I usually stay," the boy whispered. He put a single finger to his lips and Jessie gave a single nod, her eyes still trained on his. "What's your name?" Jessie opened her mouth to speak and found that no words came out. "Here," he mumbled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small pocket knife of some sort.

_Oh god this crazy guy is gonna kill me!_

"Use this to carve your name in the wall…you must be scared to be honest." Jessie took the knife, which was a little clammy, and shakily carved her name on the wall nearest to her. "Jess..ie...oh! Jessie. Hi. This is my name." He took the knife and swiftly carved the name 'Sticks' into the wall.

"Why do you call yourself 'Sticks'?" Jessie asked, finally breaking the silence.

"I try and play the drums time to time…oh god I have to get back to my dad, so I'll see you around Jess!"

….

_Friday 20__th__ June_

"Yeah, those were the days, eh Jess?" Sticks nudged her. Jessie ignored him and stayed quiet, not even noticing the growing look of badly hidden jealousy on Lucy's little face.

**A/N: DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN. I am falling in love with Sticks right now. But yeah I hope you all see how he could potentially look if this were to be a film. But yes Lucy is jealous and Sticks is clearly bothering Jessie for something...but what is it? Hmmm. Next chapter on Friday!**


	6. Chapter 6 - The Flames

"So when are you running away with me?" Sticks asked Jessie cheekily.

_Someone, tell me he's joking._

"Running away with you?" Lucy spluttered.

_What is this one even doing in my damn room?_

"Yeah, Luce – wanna come with?"

"No…I'm good, thank you though. When are you planning to run away?"

_Don't listen to him. He's just being annoying._

"He's lying to you," Jessie said shortly, her eyes studying. "We're not running away."

"I'm planning to get her outta here by the end of this week, we've been planning this for ages," Sticks said sincerely.

_SERIOUSLY, STICKS, SHUT UP ABOUT IT._

"Oh? And why didn't I know about this?" Lucy asked in bitterness.

"Why do you flipping care, Lucy and more to the point, and I have been waiting to ask you this ever since you walked in, but why the hell are you in my room?" Jessie said this all in one breath and as soon as she was done, there was a cold silence lingering in the air.

_We can only pray that she gets the hint and leaves._

"Wow," Sticks whistled, bringing his knees up to his chest. "That was deep."

"I just…I…"

"You what?" Jessie cupped her hand over her ear. When Lucy didn't give an answer, Jessie scoffed. "Yeah that's what I thought. Now you can leave." Lucy took one long fleeting look at Jessie and ducked her head, shuffling herself out of the room.

_Finally._

"Oh boy. That was more than stressful to watch, Jess," Sticks murmured, but his eyes were sparkling. Jessie just went to shut the door and gave a long, drawn out sigh.

_Can he stop doing that silly smirk thing?_

"Why are you here, Sticks?"

"Because I think today's the day."

_No way._

"Are you mad? This is in no way the day. You haven't given me any time to prepare, I can't just run away!"

_Well I could if I wanted to._

"Yeah you could and you know you could. It's not gonna take forever, a few seconds, max." Jessie felt so stressed that she just had to paint, or write, or stab something.

"Sticks give me more time and then we can leave. Okay? We cannot do this right now, I swear you can't just spring this up on me." Sticks looked like he was getting annoyed, his cheeks were getting red.

"We have to go! I can't let you stay in this place any longer, it's vile," Sticks hissed angrily.

"And you seriously think I can just walk out? No! Why do we even need to leave?"

"Jessie I hear you cry in your sleep-"

_You don't hear me cry in my sleep, you liar._

_Don't worry Jessie, you don't cry, ever._

_"_Sticks, stop with the lies, you're nowhere near my room at night." Jessie took a shaky breath in even though, somewhere in her dark twisted mind, she knew that Sticks was probably right.

But she hated to admit that.

"Alright, Jess. Wasn't the aim to find your dad?" Sticks hit it home.

_He's so annoying._

_Why is he so annoying._

"Okay, look Sticks, it's been really fun but you need to go, now. It's nearly dinner and I need to go down before they try and put me back in that dreaded room-"

"Not until you promise to get out of this place with me," Sticks whispered, standing up and walking over to where to Jessie stood. She stared him straight into his bluey-grey eyes with such a blank expression that it almost unnerved him. "C'mon, Jess," he muttered, moving his hand up slightly.

_What the hell is he doing with that hand?_

"Sticks," Jessie mumbled, her voice hitting a warning note.

"Jess I'm not leaving until you agree. And you know I won't." Then the back of Sticks' hand seemed to brush against Jessie's cold cheek.

_Get him OFF YOU._

"Sticks," Jessie said with such threat that he had no choice but to stop. Jessie moved her head to the side so that she couldn't be touched by him, her heart thumping against her chest. "I'll go with you, just to get you to shut up. Now get out." Jessie turned Sticks around and shoved him out of the window that he came in from, and Sticks left without another word.

That night was a weird one. Jessie felt like she couldn't sleep. She heard noises in her brain, like some form of distortion alongside whispers and the crackling of fire.

The crackling of fire.

Fire.

Smoke.

_JESSIE GET UP. GET UP NOW._

Jessie's eyes shot open and everything was a haze, but the noises suddenly became so clear that she could pick up on every single sound around her. There were screams and yells, plus the distant smell of smoke. Jessie swung her legs out of her bed and opened her door, to see girls from all over the house running in a frenzy, screaming bloody murder.

"FIRE! FIRE!"

"THERE IS A FIRE!"

"OH MY GOD WE ARE ALL GONNA DIE!"

"EVERYONE OUT THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE." Jessie stared at everyone in shock, not really sure what to do but that thick smell of smoke getting stronger and the crackling of fire getting louder. Something made her turn back around and there, sitting on her windowsill, was Sticks.

_Well that explains so much more._

"Come on, we have to go," he hissed to her, holding out his hand.

"Seriously, Sticks, this isn't the time. Get lost," Jessie mumbled distractedly, grabbing a cloth bag and ripping the painting off the canvas, shoving it in the bag alongside the few paintbrushes and clothes she owned.

"Come on, you might as well come now. We have to get outta here, we're gonna find your dad. That's what you wanted to do right?"

_Well, that is what she wanted to do._

Jessie stopped what she was doing and clutched her hair in distress, stuffing some hair in her mouth in confusion.

"Fine, fine fine and fine, let's go, NOW," she finally decided quickly. Sticks' eyes glinted in joy and took Jessie's bag, helping her out the window by climbing out first and taking her hand afterwards. They managed to get onto the grass and just started to run. Run through the forest. Feeling the cold air against their own skin. They didn't stop for a few minutes until the burning home was just a dot in the distance.

And it's only when Jessie was panting and Sticks was catching his breath in a heap on the dry leaves, did she smell the distinctive scent of gasoline and petrol on his clothes.

_Seriously, Sticks?_

_Seriously?_

**A/N: I think we all need a friend like Sticks (who would ideally be portrayed by Evan Peters, let us remember this.) I mean he started a huge deadly fire but hey, all for Jessie's interest, right?**

**Right...?**

**Anyway, next chapter next Friday.**


	7. Chapter 7 - The Voices

It was freezing outside and there was nothing Jessie could do about it. She didn't bring the right clothing and she definitely did not expect to be in the middle of a remote clearing with Sticks, the distant smell of smoke and the faraway screams still ringing clear to her.

_So basically Sticks started the fire._

"This should do for now, right?" Sticks nudged Jessie, who was staring blankly in the direction of the Home.

_You're an idiot. You're a moron._

"Sticks you didn't need to burn the whole building down," she told him flatly, not tearing her eyes away from where they were fixated.

"Jess, let it go, you're out now," Sticks told her firmly, placing his hands on her shoulders.

_But for all the wrong reasons._

"Sticks, you didn't need to burn down the whole-"

"And what do you want me to do about it?!" Sticks shouted, his eyes flaming with irritation. "I got you out of there and I don't have so much as a thank you! I SAVED YOU!" Jessie just shook her head slowly, no emotion or shock registering on her face whatsoever.

_He's the definition on an idiot._

"You didn't save me you psycho," she mumbled. Sticks' face went blank and his eyes became hollow.

_Jessie, not good, not good at all._

"Did you just call me a psycho?" Sticks spat, his grip on her shoulders getting tighter.

_God, that hurts._

"Sticks, get off me," Jessie mumbled.

"I'm not a psycho, Jess. And that coming from you is beyond rich and in fact, ironic," Sticks hissed, that grip just getting tighter and tighter.

_No, don't listen to him._

**_Kill him, he called you a psycho, kill him NOW._**

_Jessie compose yourself woman!_

"Please get off me," Jessie asked politely, her voice wavering slightly and her eyes growing large. "You're crazy, you're insane, I don't know why I agreed to do this with you, you're, you-" Sticks shook Jessie so violently and suddenly that her teeth clamped on top of her tongue and she accidentally bit it, hard.

_Jessie he's having his moment, he does this all the time it's nothing personal, you know that._

**_Spit the blood out in his face, he deserves every bit of it._**

Jessie had never heard these voices before, they were new to her but seemed to be telling her everything that she could and couldn't do. It disturbed her to a point where she didn't know which one was her original thought.

Meanwhile, Sticks carried on shaking her whilst saying "I AM NOT CRAZY, YOU ARE THE PSYCHO, JESSIE NAPIER, YOU!"

**_Spit._**

_Ignore._

**_Spit, make him have to blink the blood out of his eyes._**

She couldn't ignore them forever.

She took a deep breath through her nose and sprayed all of the warm, metallic tasting blood from her mouth into his face.

"You need to shut up, now, I am not crazy!" Jessie screamed as Sticks let go of her in shock and automatically tried to wipe the blood off of his cheeks and pretty much everywhere else it had managed to get into. "I TOLD YOU I WASN'T, I STILL AM NOT, AND IF YOU EVER, CALL ME CRAZY AGAIN, I WILL KILL YOU!"

Then she heard the white noise again.

Sticks, who had now calmed down and was still using his sleeve as a towel to get the blood off, was staring at Jessie in shock and actually, fear.

"Alright, Jess, I'm sorry!" he held his hands up in defence, taking a few paces back.

_Idiot._

**_Well played, Jessie._**

_Who the hell are you following?_

**_Now go and continue whatever you were doing._**

_You never used to be so easily led._

"Jess?" Sticks asked timidly, slowly reproaching her. Jessie just stood there, not looking at anything in particular but just trying to figure out where both these voices were coming from. But she couldn't trace them, and that scared her. "Jess we've gotta keep moving." This snapped Jessie out of her trance.

"Where do you expect we go?" she hissed to Sticks, her sudden response making him jump.

"We just trace down your father, that's all," he shrugged shakily. "I mean it can't be that hard, right?"

"I haven't heard from him since he sent me that letter," Jessie bit her knuckle, now seeing this trip as impossible and a total waste of time.

"Do you have the letter on you now?" Sticks asked quickly, his eyes lighting up. Jessie reached into her back jeans pocket and pulled out a grubby looking envelope, opening it and taking out a tattered but readable letter. She gave it to Sticks hesitantly. "Oh come on, what do you think I'm gonna do with it?" he scoffed, taking it from her and reading it quickly.

"Just be careful please," Jessie sniffed.

"Yeah yeah," Sticks replied absentmindedly.

The letter read;

_'jess,_

_things are Changing and yOu need to realise that life just isn't that siMplE Anymore. and I kNow you're growing up anD what happened to you just isn't Fair, Is it? you caN't trust anyone these Days, understand that. you always have to be ahead of the curve. your MothEr, as stupId aNd idiotic as she was, she sTill Had lovEd you beCause you are stilL her daughter believe It or Not, i KnoW tHat's hard to bElieve. aNd i love YOU. we will see eachotheR soon, i promisE you. dOn't Look so Damn sERious,_

_let's put a smile on that face._

_don't be afraid to be the class clown_

_don't be afraid to be a joker once in a while'_

"Jeez that's all he left you? That's it, finished? No extra message saying where he's going? Nothing?" Sticks said angrily, throwing the paper on the ground and letting out a scream of frustration. Jessie simply picked the paper up gently and lightly brushed the specks of mud and dirt off.

_Read it again._

**_It's not even that difficult, don't be an idiot._**

_Read it properly, Jess._

Jessie tried to ignore these voices and just attempted to tune into Sticks' rant as she shoved the letter in her pocket, watching him shout whilst kicking the crispy leaves up in frustration. "NOT SO MUCH AS A LITTLE 'BY THE WAY' AT THE BOTTOM! WHAT DID HE EXPECT YOU TO DO?" Sticks ran his hand through his dirty blonde hair, clearly stressed.

"Sticks there's no point crying over it. All we can do is keep moving forward before they find us and take us back," Jessie hissed. Sticks swallowed back his words and just nodded.

…

"Heard from them, yet?" he asked. Harleen sighed and shut the laptop swiftly.

"No, now stop asking me," she drawled, sprawling herself all over the desk she was perched on top of.

"I've been waiting for a good few years now. If I wait any longer, surely I'll have to seek them out myself, take her out and then burn the home to a crisp?"

"Why would you even want to do that, weirdo? The Home is a good place for homeless girls and boys, might I add. It did her no harm to go there," Harleen sighed heavily.

"So I don't have permission to burn the home to a crisp?" he clarified slowly. Harleen giggled at this and shook her head fondly.

"They'll be here soon, and when they turn up we can carry out the plan, okay? Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, Jack," she said sweetly, whilst running her finger over his scars that ran through the corners of his mouth to his cheeks.

**A/N: Probably my favourite chapter to ever write, ever. I love how mad Sticks is and how he's just a mirror image of Jessie. Also, did you notice anything about the letter? And introducing Jack and Harleen, I don't suppose you know who they are…? Of course you do.**


End file.
